


you can coax the cold right out of me

by LittleAprilFlowers



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Carry On Exchange 2020, Library Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, and also there is a blowjob, basically Baz gets very distracted while staying late doing coursework, they said I love you already, they're gonna say it more anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleAprilFlowers/pseuds/LittleAprilFlowers
Summary: BAZ - “It’s quiet tonight. And there are an alarming amount of perfect little nooks among the books.” I murmur, my hand settling on his thigh as I smirk to myself. Simon’s cheeks immediately flush a warm pink and it takes a great amount of effort not to just snog him senseless. I find I am possessed by that urge rather often.My contribution to the Carry On Summer Exchange of 2020 for arcanine!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118
Collections: Carry_On_Summer_Exchange_2020





	you can coax the cold right out of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arcanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/gifts).



> I did my best to work some of the prompts in together, so I hope that works out well enough! We have a post-canon uni situation, where the boys are happy and in love and willfully ignorant of the rules regarding social decency on campus. Too good to resist, really. They are kissing, like you asked for, just… not on the mouth. You’ll see.
> 
> The title is my favourite lyric from BITE by Troye Sivan and I listened to it a lot while writing this.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is an absolute bloody nightmare. I don’t know how he does it - he doesn’t even attend a university, let alone the same one as me - but somehow he’s charmed his way past the doddery old dear at the front desk of the library and is currently standing in front of me with his hands in his jean pockets. He’s as casual as you like, as if he hasn’t just technically committed a trespassing offence. Then I remember who I’m dealing with and realise that I’m more relieved that he’s here, if anything.

“You alright?” he asks, smiling that smile of his that makes it look like he’s literally made of sunshine. Because he is.

I groan and rub my forehead, but manage to return most of a smile back. “I suppose. And though I appreciate the distraction, this essay isn’t going to write itself.”

“You told me it wasn’t due for another week.” Simon protests, and he’s pouting adorably, damn him. “I called you a couple of times but you didn’t answer.”

“My phone is on don’t disturb. But you’re right, I should’ve checked it. I’m sorry.” I apologise, glancing around before patting the space on the seat beside me. Thankfully the particular study area I’ve holed myself up in is quiet, and there is only me and two or three other students here out of my line of sight as darkness falls over London. I only realise the time because I’ve dragged my eyes away from the bullet points of my latest assignment. And I recall a hurried promise to Simon this morning that I would text him when I was on my way back to the flat. I had planned to be home for dinner.

He sidles up to me, as impossibly warm as always. I let myself bask in it for a moment and become painfully aware of why it took so long to leave the flat that morning in the first place; Simon always runs hot. It’s as if there’s actual molten butter under his skin. With the amount he consumes I could hardly be surprised if that were the case at this point - though in the more crazed fantasies of my youth I imagined he tasted like toffee (I’m not going to think about  _ that  _ right now). It doesn’t help when I feel his wing curl protectively around my shoulders, masked by magic though it is, and the distinct sensation of being cocooned settles over me in a way that by now has become familiar when we spend so much time together. 

“I take it that I’m forgiven?” I tease softly, leaning into him.

Simon huffs and shrugs, bumping my head with his shoulder. “You weren’t in that much trouble to begin with. I’m not  _ that _ much of an arsehole. And I was more worried than anything.”

“Worried? About little old me? Sounds like you’re going soft, Snow.”

“You need to take care of yourself. You’re not indestructible.”

I’m struck by the sudden painful memory of Simon with ragged bullet holes in his leathery wings, his blood staining the sand he laid in as chaos raged around us. And again, as Watford fell to ash and ruin, and Simon stood in defiance of it all with those same impossible wings of his spread wide and the Sword grasped in his bloodied fist. I push it all away - another time, another place, all of it behind us now - and instead settle closer against his side. The shelves around us afford a bit of privacy, enough that I feel comfortable practically snuggled up against him like this.

“Neither are you.” I murmur, my hand balling in his shirt. 

“Hey. Don’t be like that. You know what I meant.” he insists, his own hand finding my hair and twisting a few ebony strands around his fingers. Hands scarred by a sword he wielded far too young. “You may be a vampire, Baz, but I’m  _ pretty _ sure you still need to sleep. And eat. And get some fresh air once in a while.”

I huff into his shoulder. “Technically we don’t know for certain that I  _ need  _ to do all of those things to survive. And as a university student, I will in the very least do them less often, as is expected of me.”

“ _ Baz _ .” Simon says my name again, firmer this time. It’s hard to hide how I shudder at his tone.

**SIMON**

Is he cold? It is chilly in here. I know it isn’t like him to really get cold - despite his skin being as frigid as the grave sometimes, for want of a better way to put it - but Baz has been throwing himself into his coursework lately. He’s mostly joking about going without sleep and food, but I’m well aware there is some truth there as well. And of course I’m worried about him. He’s my boyfriend, for Christ’s sake, and I’ve done a shitty job so far of showing him how much that means to me. The least I can do is make improvements whenever I can.

“Here, put this on.” I say, pulling myself out of his grip with some effort to shrug the denim jacket from my shoulders and drape it over his front like a tiny blanket. Even if it doesn’t really do the job I’d intended for it, Baz makes a quiet happy noise and looks at me with this dopey smile that he saves just for moments like this. For us.

“Thank you, love.” he replies. There’s something in the upwards lilt of his lips that suggests something  _ other _ than gratitude, and my heart leaps in my chest at the sparkle in the grey of his eyes that tells me Baz has something dastardly going on in that bloody brilliant head of his. 

“Is that all you want to say?” I press.

A part of me still quietly hopes it is. That part is a lot quieter than it used to be, mind you. We take things one step at a time, like my therapist said, but we’ve taken… quite a few  _ steps _ , since everything that happened in America. And even more than that since I stood in the wreckage of our old school and told Baz outright that I love him, that I had for even longer than I first thought and would for as long as he would have me. He said it back, which wasn’t a surprise. He’d been waiting to say it since the beach, before Penny interrupted, and maybe even before that.

We both cried. It was a lot. Sometimes I still want to cry when I hear him say it.

It isn’t what he says now though. Instead the spark in his eyes glows brighter, like the embers of a fire being coaxed back into a flame. “There are… other things we could discuss. For example, what I have been trying very hard not to think about, with all these excellent places in the library to hide away.”

I know he watches as my throat bobs. His eyes dart from the jump of my Adam’s apple to the freckle beneath my ear, the one he’s told me he has obsessed over for years. And then they meet mine again and it takes all I have in me not to press him into the scratchy fabric of the seat we’re sharing and kiss him until neither of us can breathe. Sometimes Baz looks at me like he wants to eat me alive, and sometimes I almost think I know the feeling. Before I fell in love with him I don’t think I could have ever considered wanting to sink my teeth into someone. But then Baz brushes his long soft hair from his neck in that casual way of his, or leans over a counter in a particular angle, and it’s all I can do  _ not _ to tear his clothes off and… do things to him. Things I couldn’t have dreamt of before without spiralling into a cycle of guilt and fear.

Although to be fair, my willpower isn’t as strong as it used to be. Baz just has to look at me the right way - exactly like he is now - and I’m putty in his hands. And he knows it and all.

“Go on.” I tell him, speaking around my heart as it leaps up into my throat. “I’m listening.”

**BAZ**

Simon’s jaw is doing that thing where it juts from his neck in such rigid determination that he looks as though he is sculpted from marble. I’m the one who is pale and cold as the rock, in comparison to the sheer brilliance of life that emanates constantly from Simon, and which only seems to burn brighter when he’s upset.

Or aroused.

Were it not for his wings, I might compare myself to Icarus in his place, throwing myself at the one thing that will inevitably destroy me - though not in battle anymore, I should think, unless the universe in its wicked way decides it isn’t done with us after all. I would like to graduate first, I think. To at least have that under my belt, along with telling Simon Snow against all odds that I love him, and then kissing him a lot and  _ then  _ actually having sex with him. Lots of sex. I’ve got very good at certain new spells over the past year and a bit.

_ Oh, teenage Basilton. You would weep if you could see me now. _

“It’s quiet tonight. And there are an alarming amount of perfect little nooks among the books.” I murmur, my hand settling on his thigh as I smirk to myself. Simon’s cheeks immediately flush a warm pink and it takes a great amount of effort not to pounce on him and snog him senseless. I find I am possessed by that urge rather often. 

“There are still people around.” he points out, but judging by the way he leans in just enough for our noses to brush, I think he’s trying to preserve my modesty rather than outrightly turn me down. Which is sweet, bless him. But I don’t want him to be sweet. I want Simon; the impossible boy who kisses me under stars and in the middle of infernos, who carries the world and a pair of wings on his shoulders, and who made me fall irrevocably in love with him from the first moment his cornflower blue eyes met mine.

_ The Crucible gave me you,  _ I told him before And I want to give him everything in return.

“I’ve missed you, Simon.” I protest, closing my eyes and leaning in to steal the most chaste of kisses. Just like when he used to have magic, when I could feel it bubbling under his soft freckled skin, there is a heat radiating from him when I say his name. He can’t resist it.

**SIMON**

He knows exactly what he’s doing when he says my name. And when he says it like  _ that,  _ with the feeling of his lips still trailing on mine… 

I’m absolutely done for.

"You're insatiable." I tell him, leaning in to kiss at the edge of his jaw.

Baz's eyes go wide, as if he can’t quite believe it was that easy to bring me around, and then he quirks a brow in that insufferable way of his. "My, that's a big word for you.”

"Fuck off."

Less elegantly, Baz snorts. I like that he lets his guard down around me and knows he can be less of a knob when it’s just the two of us.

Then he is standing with his hand in mine. Guess we’re off to find one of these nooks he claims to have staked out - I wonder how much time he spends here studying, and how much of it is imagining horny scenarios of the two of us crammed between the bookshelves when he could just be at home doing it to me. 

“What about your things?” I argue, gesturing my hand to his laptop and his bag and the pile of half a dozen reference books he has stacked on the table.

Baz waves his free hand. “There are cameras. Only here, mind you. I’ve figured out the blind spots when I haven’t been sticking my nose in figures and numbers.”

“You didn’t even know I was going to come and see you!” 

“I plan for all eventualities, Snow.” he says, smug as a cat with the canary. “Our dear Penelope may be the brains of the operation, but I’m the strategist.”

I huff, thinking of the nerdy games Shepard tries to get us to play with him whenever he comes to visit, with all the tactics stuff. I don’t always get it but it’s a laugh most of the time, especially after a couple of beers. “And where does that leave me?”

“Devastatingly handsome disaster.”

Now  _ that’s _ more like it. Something about the way Baz says handsome when he’s talking about me makes me feel all giddy. I imagine it’s what vertigo must feel like, but I’ve never been afraid of heights so I can’t be sure. 

So of course I’m following along behind him. It doesn’t take much to convince me this is going to happen regardless; Baz gives me this look over his shoulder when he speaks and it glints like steel in sunlight. I can’t resist him when he looks at me like that.

**BAZ**

Simon follows me through the shelves until we come to our destination - a dusty, neglected corner of the library containing a rather surprising amount of books about ornithology and ornamental gardening. Neither subject is the reason for our visit, though arguably their lack in popularity is a factor.

I don’t give my boyfriend (it still thrills me to even think of him as such) the chance to ask me what I have in mind. I make my intentions very clear the moment I grab him by the neckline of his t-shirt and drag him into a kiss, my back colliding with the shelf behind me and giving a warning shudder as I lean into it. Though Simon freezes at first, it takes him no time at all to melt into the kiss, his own wonderfully warm hands settling on my hips, the ends of his fingers just brushing the rise of my rear.

This is safe.  _ Familiar _ . Even now I am hesitant to rush him, even as my undead heart briefly thrills in my chest. Simon’s thumb presses against my hipbone as he pulls my body flush to his, and I groan into his mouth as his tongue brushes over my lower lip. We kiss, hot and heavy and hungry, for a long stretch of time before Simon grunts in frustration against my mouth and I ease his face from mine with my hands on his jaw.

“What is it, love?” I ask him, a breathless whisper in the space between us.

He looks away, blue eyes darting back the way we had come. For a moment I have an awful twisting feeling in my gut and expect him to say we should stop. But then he grins at me, mischief shining in his irises like sunlight on the bluest stretch of sea.

“I want to suck you off, Baz. Right now.”

And who said romance is dead?

**SIMON**

The next thing I know I have Baz’s cock in my mouth, his long violinist’s fingers wound in my hair, and the thankfully soft carpet under my knees. All I can think about is him standing over me, stifling the wonderful sounds he makes into the back of his hand as I swallow him down eagerly. As much as I wish I could hear him, we have to stay quiet, and I love him even more for having the sense to muffle himself when all I want to do is make him beg for me.

Baz moves his hand away for a moment though, his silver eyes meeting mine with an intensity as strong as the magic he wields. “Fuck, Simon… Do that  _ thing _ with your tongue again. Please _. _ ”

I have gotten  _ very  _ good at this, if I say so myself. How can I say no?

He tastes amazing. I know at least for sure that he’s had blood fairly recently; I can feel the heat of his dick against my tongue, and the warmth of his palm pressed to my scalp. There’s the salty tang of precum that I lap away eagerly every time I pull back, and I groan around his length as he tugs lightly at my curls in encouragement.

**BAZ**

I’m going to die.

It’s not the first time I’ve thought it, least of all when this beautiful bastard is involved. But I’m not sure I can keep myself sane for much longer as Simon swallows me down like the devil he is. His arrowhead tail has slipped free of his jeans and it waves in a slow steady rhythm behind him, matching the drag of his lips over my shaft.

I'm damn lucky that the bookcase is at my back, otherwise I might have actually collapsed, snogging Simon Snow on the ugly carpet of my uni library with my cock out. Turns out I don't have nearly as many standards as people might think. I would be disappointed in myself if I wasn't so preoccupied with Simon's cherry pink lips around me.

My fangs pop. It can’t be helped. Admittedly I have gone longer than I should without satiating my thirst for blood, and intimate situations such as this one tend to drag out my more beastly side. As my mouth hangs open around a ragged breath, I catch Simon looking up as he draws back to kiss the crown of my cock before grinning up at me.

“Wicked.” he insists, and I feel myself smiling right back, fangs and all.

**SIMON**

He’s close. I know Baz is close when his hips start to jerk under my mouth. He tries to keep still most of the time, because he doesn’t want to take anything more than I’ll give, as he put it in the past. So I’m going to give him everything I’ve got.

My own cock aches in my jeans, and for possibly the first time ever I regret agreeing to try out skinny ones. It feels tight, too tight, and I shift myself only for that rough drag of my boxers against my sensitive skin and groan again around Baz’s dick.

It tips him over the edge. Baz’s hand grips my hair and hold me close as he comes, a strangled sound trapped in the other palm clapped over his mouth as his eyes squeeze shut. He is the most glorious fucking thing I have ever seen in my life, and seeing him let go never fails to drive me mad. I swallow as much of him as I can, eager and messy and--

My wings spring free of their spellwork.

Books fly out of every shelf and clatter to the floor, rattled from the spots they must have sat in forever, because dust drifts up from every disturbed page and cover.

We both freeze. My mouth pops off Baz's cock, a drop of cum trickling out of the corner of my lips that I lick away without thinking. It would probably be funny in a better moment, but right now Baz seems to break out of his shocked stupor only for a moment to watch, and stare like he's going to take a bite out of me there and then, before he's fumbling for the fly of his jeans.

We dash through the library like there is a fire on our heels, only stopping off where Baz had sat before to grab all of his things and hurry out into the chilly night air, giggling the whole way as the woman at the desk hollers after us. 

"I love you." I tell him, with barely the breath to spare from the thrill of our escape.

“I love you too, Simon Snow. Bloody hell, do I.” Baz laughs, bumping my shoulder with his as we hurry through the cold, back to the flat. I’m going to cook pizza for dinner, and then I’m going to snog Baz on the sofa until we pass out. And I’m not going to feel bad about it, because I love him, and he loves me, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter to me anymore.

**BAZ**

Knocking over bookcases when I've just come down my former-nemesis, current-boyfriend's throat in a university library? And now we’re going to go  _ home _ so I can hopefully return the favour, only with considerably less clothes?

A charmed life indeed.


End file.
